Forever and a Lifetime
by Sunnycanary613
Summary: Lithuania finds himself sitting next to Belarus on a park bench. [Oneshot.]


**AN: I had this idea, and originally it was for DenNor but I changed it because it suited this weird thing my brain spewed out better ^^; Title is based on lyrics from Silent Storm by Carl Espen (Norway's 2014 Eurovision song)**

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><p>Today was the first day in a while where she hadn't try to injure him in some way when he approached her. Not that he minded the bruises and broken bones she gave him—after all, they were from <em>her<em>, and just her noticing him and not ignoring him meant a lot to him. But it was a nice change, even if it was a perplexing one.

They were sitting together on the park bench. They weren't sitting that close, but not at opposite ends—she hadn't moved as far away as she could, like she usually did—and that made Lithuania smile in new hope.

He was about to talk to her, start a conversation, because today felt like a good day and maybe, just _maybe_, she had started to return his feelings for her, and _maybe_ it just took that first conversation on the park bench. But as he opened his mouth, he noticed what Belarus had been staring at the whole time.

Their bench was facing a path, and on the other side of the path was a flowerbed, where a few yellow sunflowers grew. Lithuania froze as his eyes took in the yellow flowers, smile instantly dropping as an icy claw grabbed his heart.

She was still thinking about _him_. She shouldn't be, not after so many years, decades, _centuries_ of rejection. When will she see that her _brother_ would never love her the way she loved him?

He sneaked a glance at her face, the pretty face that haunted his dreams and other's nightmares, her pale skin hidden by a curtain of light hair, her eyes like two blue crystals, her pale lips currently in a frown, the tears slowly sliding down her cheeks and falling on her skirt.

_Wait_…

She wasn't moving, sitting upright and still like an ice sculpture, still staring at the sunflowers. Her face was streaked with tears, and she blinked slowly, allowing the tears built up in her eyes to roll down her cheeks.

Lithuania tentatively reached out to her. "Belarus?"

She flinched and her head snapped up to look at him. He was half-expecting a glare or a blank, disinterested expression like she usually had on, but this time, her eyes were full of pain, and she just looked… _Crushed_.

"Why?" At first, Lithuania thought he had imagined the barely-whispered word coming out of her mouth, but she spoke again. "Why? Why him? Why not me, why that long-haired Chinese _freak_?"

With every word, she gained volume, until the last word was a scream, a desperate, agonized _shriek_, and broke down, heaving with sobs, tears staining his shirt while he wondered when she had collapsed onto his shoulder.

And then he understood why she was acting like this, why she was crying, why she hadn't bothered to push him away. A hot surge of anger flooded through his veins—anger at China, for stealing her brother away from her and making him like this, even if he didn't like it, hated it, when she paid the Russian more attention than him; anger at Russia, for not noticing his sister's pain, or if he had, ignoring them and satisfying his own needs only; anger at himself for not knowing what to do, not knowing how to stop those crystal droplets from falling from her eyes.

But he could still _try_, right?

"Please, Belarus, don't cry…" He awkwardly patted her back, then switched to stroking her hair, the platinum strands softer than silk under his fingertips. She didn't respond, only clung tighter to him, and Lithuania tried to ignore his heart thumping wildly in his chest and the hot blush spreading over his cheeks because she needed him as support right now, and it wasn't the right time to think of _those_ kind of thoughts.

She was slowly calming down, now, and instead of the loud sobbing, she was just silently shaking, and he could feel no more tears seeping into his shirt, but he didn't know which he preferred—the loudness or the silence.

Finally, she was still, but still clung onto Lithuania, so he held her and rubbed circles on her back and whispered what he hoped were comforting words. He had no idea what he was doing, but there was a sort of _rightness_ to this, with her at her weakest, most fragile state, and him protecting her, comforting her.

She slowly unpeeled herself from him and looked at him with dead eyes, and he had to stop himself from smiling, because even when her face was stained with tears, even when her eyes were red and puffy and her nose was shiny and sticky, she was still beautiful. But it pained him to see her like this, a shell of what she once was.

She laughed, surprising Lithuania. Not really laughed, more like chuckled, a humorless, bitter chuckle.

"You're always here for me, aren't you, Lithuania?"

He sighed. "I love you, Belarus. I always have and I always will. You know that." And she did—he had told her many times, but she had always brushed it off. After all, they were nations. Their bosses told them who they married, who they divorced, who they lived with.

But this time, he was hopeful. Maybe she could finally see that she _wasn't_ in love with Russia, that she could be happy with him.

And this time, she responded to his statement. "But what good is it if I do not love you, not in the same way?"

His eyes softened, and he was silent, searching for an answer. Finally he looked up.

"I'll wait for you. I'll spend forever and a lifetime waiting, and if you ever start feeling the same way as I do, I'll be here."

She nodded and wiped her eyes on her sleeve.

They went back to sitting next to each other on the park bench, looking at the sunflowers. But this time Lithuania was more hopeful. Maybe Belarus _could_ return his feelings, maybe she _could_ love him.

And he would wait for her, he would spend forever and a lifetime waiting, and if she ever _did_ come to him, he would be there for her.


End file.
